


i'm plenty of fun

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Fake AH Crew, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Name-Calling, mentioned gun kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 18:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Jeremy's trying to get in some practice at the shooting gallery. Unfortunately, the Vagabond has other plans.PWP, mentioned kinks, and some put into practice, too.





	i'm plenty of fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samijen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samijen/gifts).



> An unofficial add-on to the canon of 'Owe You One', but can definitely be read as a standalone FAHC fic.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVELY @SAMIJEN ♥♥
> 
> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

“Jesus. You really did it, huh?”

Jeremy only manages to hear him, albeit through the thick weight of his ear protection, because he’s emptied the clip already. He pulls the pin out of the heart of the handgun, dismantles the piece entirely, and then turns to face his crewmate.

 _Crewmate_.

He could almost laugh. It’s still not something he’s used to.

“Did what?” he asks, leaning back against the guard rail, because there in front of him is the Vagabond himself; tall, intimidating, and with a hilarious splat of red face paint behind his right ear.

The corners of Ryan’s lips quirk upwards. “Cut your hair.”

“Did a little more than cut it, V,” Jeremy grins, and pulls down his headphones entirely so they hang around his neck. This leaves the curve of his skull exposed, to run fingers over new, exciting stubble.

“We still on _‘V’_? Come on, Jeremy,” he replies.

“Yeah, well, take me out to dinner first, and maybe I’ll drop the nicknames when we’re alone,” says Jeremy. He knows Ryan likes it. He knows that Ryan likes it _a lot_.

Ryan makes a whiny noise, which sounds suspiciously like he may have picked it up from Gavin, and takes some tentative steps forwards--

“Uh-uh,” Jeremy interrupts, “if you’re gonna watch, you’re gonna put on some of these.”

He holds out another pair of headphones, waving them tauntingly. The Fake AH Crew’s shooting ranges are shockingly well-equipped with safety gear, given how dangerous literally everything else is. That being said, Jeremy’s not feeling very confident in his firearms abilities just yet. So the ear protection stays, as do the gloves, the goggles, and the two paces back from the railing when the safety’s off.

Oh, god. Ryan grabs his hair and ties it back. Torn between suddenly being turned on, and also internally laughing at how the Vagabond keeps hair ties around his wrist like a high schooler, Jeremy turns back to the pieces of his handgun and moves to put them together again.

There’s a plastic-sounding _clink_ as goggles meet the back of his ear protection.

“There’s nothing to grab onto anymore,” Ryan says, warmly pressing himself into Jeremy’s back.

“I'm sure you can find something else. _Later._ Because I'm working.”

“You're no fun,” Ryan mumbles into his neck, and steps back.

The lingering sensation of his beard scruff against Jeremy's skin sends a shiver down the new recruit’s spine. To take his mind off it, he lifts the handgun, takes the safety off, and fires five consecutive shots into the targets he’d set up earlier.

Ryan _growls_.

“I'm plenty of fun,” Jeremy corrects him, looking back over his shoulder and shooting him the biggest shit-eating grin he can muster. “C’mon, Haywood, I wanna see how I did.”

Vaulting over the dividers to the gallery floor - with the Vagabond hot on his heels in the most deliriously exciting way - Jeremy immediately heads for his targets and takes the sheets down from their pins. It always feels a little like he's walking on the forbidden panelling of a bowling alley strip when he ventures out to do this, but it's put out of his mind by a hit, and another hit, and a headshot, and…

“You got all of them,” says Ryan, awestruck.

“Yup. I think I'm getting better.”

He senses Ryan spinning on his heel aimlessly, seemingly lost at this revelation, and takes his own time in adding the spent target sheets to his stack of them. Fifty. Maybe sixty. He's not been doing set numbers in his rounds, which he probably should be, but--

“I changed my mind. You're fun. You're more than fun,” Ryan murmurs, from somewhere above his ear, and then, “Jesus, _look_ at all these. You haven't missed one.”

Jeremy turns around to look up at him, fluttering his eyelashes: “what do you think, Mr. Vagabond? Have I made the cut? D’ya think the Fake AH Crew will take me on?”

“If they don't take you, I will.”

“Oh _,_ that was _bad_ ,” Jeremy laughs, tilting his chin up at Ryan starts attacking it with fleeting kisses, “that was _terrible_.”

Ryan huffs into his pulse point: “must have been, seeing as it's _you_ who's saying that.”

“Uncalled for.”

“Definitely called for.”

“God,” Jeremy says, as Ryan nips at his collarbone, “if you talked half as much as the Vagabond as you do when we fuck, you’d be half as scary--”

“Then I'd better get it all out of my system now,” Ryan says sagely, drawing back. In one swift motion, he hooks an arm behind Jeremy's knees, and lowers them both to the gallery floor. Jeremy's ear protection skitters off into the distance.

“You shouldn't be able to be that strong when your shoulder’s still fucked.”

“Yeah,” Ryan admits, “that did hurt a little.”

“Dumbass,” Jeremy mutters, and drags him down for a bruising kiss.

Ryan licks past Jeremy’s lips easily. A lock of black hair slips from behind the man’s ear and drifts down to tickle Jeremy’s cheek:

“--you _really_ shouldn’t be on top,” Jeremy says, humming into the space between them.

And Ryan, in all his infuriating glory, does a press-up, so that he’s hovering above Jeremy instead of between his legs.

“You _fuck_.”

“Hey, you didn’t want me there.”

“Roll over,” Jeremy says, “I can’t believe I even like you.”

“I’m charming. And my apartment smells nice.”

He rolls onto his back, lying beside Jeremy, in one fluid motion - less gracefully, Jeremy clambers on top of him. “Your apartment smells like leaves. That’s what plants smell like, Ryan.”

It’s a shitty move, but Jeremy likes being on top, and he likes using Ryan’s name to his advantage. “Fuck you, Dooley.”

“Fuck _me_ , Haywood.”

“Yes _sir_.”

Ryan squints up at him, obviously putting on a fucking act like a frustratingly hot _idiot_ , and goes straight for Jeremy’s fly. Jeremy still has fingerless gloves on, but to be honest, he hesitates before removing them. Maybe another time. Ryan would probably fucking love that, because he’s weird and surprising.

“Take your shirt off,” he says.

“...Bossy,” replies Ryan, but he complies anyway.

Jeremy immediately goes for his sternum, sucking little red marks down the middle of his ribcage and listening to Ryan make quiet, and very low, rumbling noises.

That wouldn’t do at all. Can’t have him getting comfortable.

He drags teeth against a nipple, and goosebumps erupt over Ryan’s exposed skin.

“That was mean--”

“Shhh,” says Jeremy, probably a little more harshly than he usually would. With his zipper loose and his gloves discarded, he’s willing to ignore the growing pressure in his boxers until later - he’d rather spend the time taking Ryan apart, piece by piece, until Los Santos’ most vicious criminal is left squirming and whining in Jeremy’s grasp.

He licks a stripe alongside Ryan’s happy trail, and yanks his waistband down. Ryan lifts his hips up to help out, or maybe he’s just really turned on.

“Someone’s feeling forceful today.”

“ _Someone_ got interrupted whilst they were working,” Jeremy reminds him, and jams a metal-cooled hand down Ryan’s underwear.

Ryan bucks unconsciously--

exhaling, hard--

trying to keep his cool--

“ _Someone_ has a reliable fuck that can’t control himself,” he continues, and he’s being rough now, grabbing Ryan firmly at the base of his cock and pulling up, still confined between layers of fabric. “And he’s a kinky bitch who gets off on seeing people play with guns. Isn’t that right, _Ryan?”_

Ryan’s hands, shaking, reach out for Jeremy’s shoulders. “Yep,” he bites out.

“Uh-uh, put your hands behind your head.”

“ _Fuck--_ ”

“Do it,” Jeremy warns.

Ryan does it, without another word. His face is getting more flushed by the minute, and he tilts his forehead into the crook of his elbow. This exposes his neck in a very inviting way, but…

Well, Jeremy had time.

He pulls down Ryan’s trousers and boxers enough that the other man can kick them off himself, because hell if Jeremy’s gonna do all the hard work, not when he’s got dick to suck and a perfectly good gang member to ruin. He pulls Ryan’s legs apart and takes in the head, and then half of the shaft, and then lets Ryan hit the back of his throat, and he stays there until he chokes from the lack of air.

“Jesus, Jeremy--”

“Shut up,” Jeremy says, in the least angry way he can, “you always screw up my plans for the day, so I might as well fuckin’ enjoy it.”

His eyes are red and burning already, he can tell, but not as red as Ryan’s chest is becoming. It blooms brighter with every strained intake of breath, and practically lights up when Jeremy sinks down on him again.

He cracks open his eyes. Tendons are jumping in Ryan’s forearms with the difficulty of keeping his hands in place. He’s got them locked behind his head, his wrists pressing into his own neck, and Ry’s eyes are squeezed shut.

Maybe he could tie them back, next time.

That would be a nice advancement in their relationship.

“Jeremy--”

Jeremy slides off, tonguing the head as he does. “What?” he says irritably.

And Ryan’s eyes flicker open dazedly, resting on Jeremy for a full few seconds before they focus. “Come back with me,” he says, “come back with me after heist prep tomorrow and fuck me.”

“ _Wellllllll_ ,” he says, pretending to think it over. He runs his index finger down the length of Ryan’s dick and spreads the mess of precum and spit without direction.

“I’m not gonna fucking break, Jeremy,” Ryan says. (Jeremy’s eyes flicker over to the whitened skin of his healing bullet wound; the only part of the man’s chest that isn’t flushed pink.) “Please, please come back with me. You’re driving me crazy.”

“I’ll consider it,” Jeremy decides.

“God, Jeremy, _please_. God, I want you inside me now, but I don’t have-- _ahh_ \--”

He lets his bottom teeth slide over the head of Ryan’s cock, very, _very_ gently, and has to hold Ryan’s hips down so he doesn’t end up choking. There’s saliva smeared between Ryan’s thighs, now. And the _sounds_ he’s making - over the visceral noises of Jeremy sucking him off, Ryan’s humming and whining and moaning, and it’s such a stark difference to the bravado he’d put on earlier that Jeremy feels himself twitching against his open zipper. He’d done that. He’d taken him apart.

Ryan’s breathing has just started to huff out unevenly when Jeremy bobs Ryan’s cock against the inside of his cheek, sliding it against his tongue, and then pulls off entirely. Ryan honest-to-god _sobs_.

Jeremy sits up on his heels, pulling Ryan’s hips closer from where he sits between his legs, and leans down to bite a purple mark into the man’s neck for a long, long moment. When he pulls back, faint metal tastes on his lips and a faint tingling on his mouth from the pressure of a hickey, he looks at Ryan. Spread out for him. Arms open and inviting, still tucked behind his head, and hair escaping in tangles from where he’d tied it back.

“You like this,” Jeremy breathes.

He doesn’t nod, but his pupils expand and contract, like a faulty camera that can’t figure out how far away something is. When Jeremy nudges his way into a hard kiss, Ryan’s lips are cold with shallow breaths.

“Fuck. You _fuck_.”

He leans back on his heels again, and pulls himself out from his underwear.

“You always interrupt me,” Jeremy continues, and almost feels genuinely angry. Ryan’s eyes widen as he starts to jerk himself off over the man’s still-slick cock: “I was doing stuff, and you _can’t even keep your hands to yourself_ \--”

He’d reached out to help. But Jeremy catches his wrist with his free hand, and slams it against Ryan’s chest, pressing down so that he knows to leave it there and grabbing the other one to join it. It’s easier to pin both hands down with one of his own when they’re right in front of him, so that’s what Jeremy does - holding Ryan tightly with his left hand, and gripping himself desperately with his right.

“You look so fuckin’ good like that, Ryan, but you’re _real_ shitty at doing what you’re told,” he says. His mouth is ahead of his brain; half of the stuff that he’s hissing at his partner, he’d be way too cautious of saying aloud if Ryan hadn’t interrupted him earlier. “I shoulda known fucking _guns_ would get you heated. Is that what you want? Do you want me to press a barrel against your chin as I fuck you, nice and slow and deep?”

“I can’t-- Jere--”

Jeremy stares him down. “If you wanna get off, you’re gonna have to learn not to be such a disobedient _slut_.”

Oh, that does it - Ryan’s hips jerk, seeking out friction where there isn’t any, and Jeremy might have just found a new way to play with him.

“Didn’t know you were into _that_ ,” he grins.

Then he feels extra mean. So he leans over him, still touching himself filthily and stopping Ryan from doing the same, to whisper:

“ _Ryan Haywood is a dirty little slut--_ ”

And whether it’s the use of the Vagabond’s full name, or the new name that Jeremy’s just discovered that _both_ of them kind of like, or maybe a combination of the two, well… Jeremy enjoys the show, anyway. He rips his hand away from restraining Ryan’s hands, but Ryan doesn’t grab at the man above him - he grabs at the papers surrounding them, fisting his palms into silhouettes with holes shot through them, and crumpling up Jeremy’s work.

He looks so good cumming over himself. A roar is ripped from the very back of his throat. Ryan’s bright red in the face, with sweat beading in the hair on his chest and rivulets of spit and fresh white running down the V of his hips, running between his legs, and mixing in the dark hair at the base of his cock.

It’s too much to watch, when Jeremy had managed to make him tip over the edge without his hands or mouth. Over Ryan’s wet chest, Jeremy jerks himself roughly, and leaves crescent moon-shaped indents on Ryan’s waist as his fingers tighten against sweaty skin - he can’t squeeze his eyes shut, not when his pulse is so loud and hot coils of anticipation are wrapping around his spine and when Ryan looks _that fucking gorgeous_ \--

Jeremy cries out brokenly and adds to the whole fucking mess, painting Ryan’s chest with cum. Ryan doesn’t look like he’s even noticed yet.

He stops himself from falling on top of him at the last second. He opts to lie next to him instead, doing his zipper and button back up and stretching out over the target templates.

It looks like it takes all of Ryan’s energy to turn his head. “Jeremy,” he mumbles. “That was fucking _awesome_.”

“Tell me about it,” Jeremy grins.

“...Do you have a towel?”

“Probably, somewhere.”

“Wait, no. Don’t go find one. I need you here,” Ryan decides, and waves away the paper stuck to his hand, to curl around Jeremy’s neck and bring him in for a kiss. He hums contentedly into it. God, he’s fucking spent.

“So… Tomorrow then?”

“Yes. _Please_.”

“I like that,” Jeremy admits. “Almost as much as you apparently do.”

“We should really have a proper discussion about what we like,” Ryan sighs.

“Tomorrow?”

“You’re planning lots of things for tomorrow, Jeremy.”

“You invited me, _Ryan_ ,” Jeremy bites back, smiling, “and besides, I only have three things planned. Heist prep. Now kink talk. And then fuck your pretty ass.”

It’s lovely to see Ryan’s eyes close, blissful, at the mere mention.

“Why didja fuckin'… ruin all my shit?” Jeremy asks, gesturing to the strewn papers. “You coulda just grabbed _me_ , instead.”

“I told you,” says Ryan, sounding a little more level. “Nothing to grab onto anymore. Not that I’m complaining, because that was wonderful, and I would definitely be up for a repeat of it.”

“Maybe not in the Fakes’ shooting range, though, buddy. I think we got lucky that no-one we know walked in on us.”

Ryan doesn’t respond to this directly, but it does seem like he heard. Instead, he reaches up to touch the fresh stubble on Jeremy’s head. It’s almost tenderly.

“...Have you got anything else planned for today?” he tries.

“Help me clean up this carnage, you animal. Then we’ll talk _evening activities_ ,” Jeremy grins. “Maybe we can have that talk a little sooner, right?”

Again, Ryan refuses to nod, but he does manage to sit up, so Jeremy heads off to recover a towel for him. Chances are, the man needed to pay dearly for not only interrupting his target practice, but erasing all evidence of his afternoon’s work…

Oh, man.

This was gonna be a _lot_ of fun.


End file.
